A Closet Affair
by TheLocket
Summary: Chocolate Cake and A Delicate Situation continue -- both Hermione and Draco find themselves stuck in a Closet Affair.


Tuesday, Potions Class with Professor Snape. Otherwise known as hell on earth. With Malfoy alternating between ludicrously attractive murderous glares (for not having plunged nude into the Prefects bathtub with him) and similarly-gorgeous flirtatious glances, and Harry and Ron checking over their shoulders to see what warranted such unwanted attention from Malfoy, I was enduring my own personalized torture.

Unfortunately, Malfoy seemed to notice how... disinclined... I was to alerting Harry and Ron to just how close I had been to having sex with him. I had sworn to myself that once I heard that robe fall to the tiled floor I would not glance at him, but on my way out, I couldn't help but sneak a glance at him. And to make matters worse, I think he caught me ogling his perfectly-muscled body. Great. As I stared at my caldron, muttering darkly to myself, I noticed that both Harry and Ron were staring at me questioningly, wondering why I kept running my hands nervously through my bushy hair or blushing to a color that can only be described as tomato-red.

"Hermione," began Ron awkwardly, "is Malfoy giving you trouble?" He turned to stare daggers at the mentioned blonde.

"Oh, no, Ron," I replied. My voice sounded strangled and high-pitched from the stress. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Malfoy grin.

"Because he's bothering _me_," growled Ron, upset by something Draco did – probably related to his eyes straying over me, judging by his possessive tone.

I quickly jumped up, a response to crush the sudden urge I had to turn around and see just what Draco – Malfoy, I mean – was doing to upset Ron so much.

I made it to the supply cabinet when I heard a chuckle behind me. Without turning completely, I knew it was Malfoy and his two goons, due to the deep guffaws that followed.

"Hey, Granger," he called lazily, "I need some lace...wing flies. Can you pass me some?"

My face burned even redder at the reminder, and I resisted the urge to throw a scoopful of the flies in his perfect face.

"Sure, Malfoy," I growled, showing the jar at him. He smirked.

"Miss Granger," came the smooth voice of Professor Snape, ready to give out punishment. "I believe your potion is finished."

"Yes, Professor," I replied. It had been finished for several minutes.

"Then why, Miss Granger, are you depleting my store of scarab beetles?" I had been pounding extra beetles to vent my frustration – and other feelings – and was scooping more into a dish. Again, I blushed crimson and murmured something intelligible.

"I suggest you get some more from the Potions Closet," he replied, evilly relishing my expression.

"But Professor," I began in protest. He held up a hand, and my heart sunk as I realized I could not argue. The Potions Closet was several hallways away – it was a small broom cupboard filled with bottles and jars and strange glasses filled with picked animals and such. Not only was it dimly lit and cramped, but also unorganized, making it impossible to find anything. With the class bell nearly over, I'd be in the stupid once-broom-closet through lunch.

I made it to the Potions Closet without hexing any of the first years I passed, a small milestone compared to the daunting task before me. When I entered the small, rectangular room, I stood for a moment, staring at the shelves that reached high above my head. I muffled a laugh as I saw the brooms, buckets, and other items used by Filch – the so-called "Potions" Closet still doubled as a broom closet. And then I sobered as I saw the glittering of rows and rows of glittering glass bottles, flasks, tubes, jars, bowls, and every other kind of container invented since the Greeks made pottery (and some from before). And so I began sorting through the stacks. It was an impossible task. Only someone with a gross knowledge of the items – Snape – would be able to find anything. I tried climbing up the ladder that was on the wall, library-style, but found nothing that even resembled scarabs. I could recognize the Potions, and calmed myself by naming then – Forgetfulness Potion, Veritaserum, Wolfsbane (no doubt left over from Lupin), Polyjuice, Love Potion, and one small vial of Felix Felicis.

I was trailing my hands along the bottles to the left of these familiar potions as I sought to find the beetles, when a sudden commotion made me turn – and fall, ungracefully, from my ladder. I landed with a muffled "oof" and turned to see an all too familiar tall, broad-shouldered, blonde-haired figure quickly turn into the open closet and pull the wooden door shut behind him. Hiding from someone (I would later swear that I heard Filch coming down the hallway, screeching insults and threats).

The result was extreme – we were both plunged into complete darkness. As I shuffled to find my wand, I was sure he did the same – a sharp elbow hit me between my ribs.

"Ow," I complained.

"Granger?" was the incredulous response.

"Yes," I replied angrily.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, repentant. With a casual flick of his wand (no incantation, though – I have to admit, I was impressed) he lit his wand.

"Whatever," I replied gruffly to hide my shock at his sincere apology, rubbing my ribs pointedly and scowling.

"Honestly," he laughed, his expression brightening from remorseful to amused. "I didn't hit you _that _hard."

"I'm delicate," I replied, scowling. He stifled another chuckle. I tried to shove past him to the door, uncomfortable of our close proximity that the narrow room required. I pushed on the wooden frame, feeling for a handle. And then I groaned.

"What now, Granger?" he asked. In the dim light of his wand I could see him raise an eyebrow.

"This door opens from the outside, idiot," I growled. "You've locked us in."

"Have I?" he asked, sounding unperturbed. And by the way he glanced over me I could tell that he was unconcerned with our situation. And probably more than used to being locked in broom cupboards with girls. I sighed angrily and flopped to the ground, hugging my knees in the small space. He stared at me with great interest for a moment, and then sat down across from me.

"So what are we going to do?" he asked.

"Wait," I replied, seething.

"Ah," he replied, staring innocently off at the glittering glass bottles, all reflecting the wandlight eerily. I was suddenly claustrophobic, and tried to hide my sudden fear – the air felt stuffy, the walls pushing against my back, forcing me towards him.

"Do you have a better idea?" I snapped, glad to break the silence and distract myself, but unsure of why I always felt so defensive around him. He glanced at me, not bothering to respond.

"Anyway," I continued, strangely needing to explain myself, "Snape sent me in here for the scarab beetles, he'll probably come looking for me in a while."

"You still haven't found them?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"No," I huffed. "Why, do you think you can?"

"Is that a challenge?" he replied.

"Maybe."

"What do I get if I find them?" he asked. I was suddenly very interested in the fraying hem of my skirt.

"Says the boy who has everything," I mumbled to my knees.

"Everything?" he repeated.

"Well, what do you want?" I replied, glancing up at him, strangely immersed in the sudden enigma he presented.

"Promise to give me whatever I ask," he replied, dodging the question, "and I will find you the scarab beetles."

"Fine," I replied quickly, and instantly regretted it. Because, for all that I was unhealthily curious about what he could want, I knew that I should not promise Draco Malfoy anything.

"Agreed," he said. And, raising his wand, he murmured, "_Accio Scarab Beetles_."

There was slight shifting on a shelf I hadn't thought to look on, and the small jar zoomed neatly into his outstretched hand.

"There." He offered me the jar triumphantly.

"That was clever," I allowed, surprising myself with the compliment.

"I _am_ in Slytherin," he replied with fake indignation.

"Yes, of course," I replied, my condescension equally false. He grinned at our banter, and then his silver eyes became suddenly appraising. I suddenly forgot what I was saying, my mouth hanging open for a moment as I returned the intense gaze.

"Miss Granger!" came a voice. There was a pounding on the door.

"Yes, Professor?" I managed somehow to reply, not moving my gaze from Draco's face. The door swung open, and we both scrambled to our feet. I somehow pitched forward from the sudden movement, but Draco's strong hands caught and steadied me. I turned to face Snape, holding the beetles up in a desperate attempt to fake innocence. He glanced at Draco and rolled his eyes.

"Don't forget to leave them in the cabinet, Miss Granger," he replied, and strode off down the corridor.

Suddenly I was aware that the door was open, and walked quickly towards it – my rational mind making a bid for freedom before I could embarrass myself further -- or say or do anything that I could later regret. Draco followed, and we both stood in the narrow doorway at the same moment. I froze, glancing up at him, allowing him to pass through first. But he didn't; instead, his silvery eyes angled downwards towards mine.

"Granger," he murmured, "I decided what I want." And before I could object, he leaned down to press his lips gently against mine.


End file.
